


The Irrelevance of Crutches

by TheDarknessFactor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarknessFactor/pseuds/TheDarknessFactor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’ve - well, mostly Bruce, although I built it - designed it to be able to conform to your leg, holding your bones in place and taking off any pressure on them when you walk or run.  Next step, you know.  Bye-bye, crutches.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Irrelevance of Crutches

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! This is another prompt fill. The prompt was brucenat + "come over here and make me". Hope you enjoy!

“Whoops, sorry, guess I can’t make it up the stairs.”  With that, Natasha turns awkwardly, her crutches not affording her much coordination, and attempts to hobble back to the elevator.  A warm hand lands on her arm before she can; she rolls her head back to stare at Bruce.

“It’s three steps, Agent Romanoff,” Tony calls.  Natasha scowls at his use of her title (she’s not an agent anymore, and they both know it; thank god the reporters don’t know that she lives here), but Bruce’s steady look and his hand on her arm go a long way to making her way up the three steps.  It isn’t any trouble at all, not for her, but an unwillingness to accept help has always been more of a deterrent for her than anything else.

Bruce is smart enough to know that his aid isn’t welcome, but she still appreciates the hand that hovers over her lower back, ready to steady her if need be.  There is only silence for a moment, apart from the steady click-click of her crutches hitting the floor.  Tony (more chivalrous than he lets on) pulls out a stool for her before hurrying back over to his worktable.  Bruce sends her another look - this one less apologetic and more along the lines of “Please stay sitting” - and then joins him.

“Stark, I’m running on a tight schedule.”

“Uh-huh.”  Tony’s skepticism is sharper than normal.  He heaves something off the table and carries it over to her, Bruce following behind him.  It looks a bit similar to one of the lower legs on his suits.  Natasha stares at it, feeling a bit like it may bite her if it gets too close.

“We’ve - well, mostly Bruce, although I built it - designed it to be able to conform to your leg, holding your bones in place and taking off any pressure on them when you walk or run.  Next step, you know.  Bye-bye, crutches.”

“It’s a nice sentiment,” Natasha concedes.  “But I don’t want to be your guinea pig.”

Tony blinks, then turns to Bruce.  “She’s grouchier than normal.  Is that my fault?  It’s my fault, right?”

“Broken legs tend to worsen people’s moods, Tony,” Bruce answers dryly.  “Please, Natasha?  Just try it on?”

And then - and she’s stupid, why would she? - Natasha responds with, “Come over here and make me.”

Only her voice is pitched lower than normal, and she can’t keep a corner of her mouth from lifting, and her gaze is obviously directed at Banner.  Shit.  She likes to tease Banner, sure, but her little crush on him isn’t supposed to see the light of day.  It’s too late now, though; Bruce has already reddened, and Tony’s eyebrows have gone up as he looks between them.

“Your move,” he says to Bruce, grinning.

Bruce gives a long-suffering sigh, pulling his glasses out of his pocket and putting them on.  Tony hands over the boot (Natasha doesn’t have another word for it) and skips back over to his workbench, already starting in on some other new project.  Natasha waits as Bruce shuffles closer; his embarrassment is forgotten as he slips into doctor-mode, instructing her to slip her broken leg (cast and all) into the boot, and then hurrying over to one of the computer consoles and typing something in.

Natasha feels the boot tighten, though not to the point of discomfort.  “Try walking on it,” Bruce advises.  

It’s heavy, a bit like wearing snow boots, but not heavy enough to impede her.  To her surprise, there’s no pain as she strides around the lab, feeling the boot accommodate to her movement.  She makes her way back to Bruce, unable to stop the pleased smile that spreads across her face.

“Nice work,” she praises.  He ducks his head.  “You designed something this revolutionary just for little old me?”

“Got bored,” he mumbles.  

Tony coughs loudly; Bruce glares at him.  Natasha rolls her eyes (she doesn’t want to know half the antics that go on in here), and speaks, bringing Bruce’s attention back to her.

“Thanks for convincing me,” she says.  Bruce doesn’t duck his head this time, but stares at her for a moment too long instead.  She grins, and adds, “Now I can stop skipping out on missions.”

“Wait, what - no - Natasha!”


End file.
